Hospitality Sanctioned
by riceandchopstixs
Summary: There was no escape from the hellhole they were involuntarily thrown in, some arriving from birth. Focusing on the conditions of the workhouse and how children long to be fostered or apprenticed just to leave. Slight GRAPHIC CONTENT. Two-Shot, perhaps.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Sweeney Todd, nor do I own the plot, unfortunately

**A/N: Okay, here's the deal. I have not written a fanfiction in **_**forever**_**. I have only written one in my life which happened to be very sucky, I only wrote it however because I wondered what…people would say, or something stupid like that. So bottom line, I don't write. At all. I am confessing that I am doing this out of pure guilt, to make up for my greed. I am utterly obsessed with this site, always on it, yet I only read stories, never write them. I rarely even ever send in reviews, because as I said, I'm greedy. And selfish. And lazy… SO with that being said, I just wanted to say that this is my ridiculous way to say sorry to those whose fanfictions I have immensely indulged myself in, and never bothered to leave a review. (There are quite a few of you.) Heh. I also had one more thing to say, I originally wanted this story to be about when Toby leaves the workhouse to work for Pirelli, however, I began to ramble, just as I am now, and never really got there. Maybe I'll add a chapter. This just deals with the awful conditions of the work house, (not that you don't know.) 'm just writing it out. ) Now, before any one spark of interest you may have had leaves, if it hasn't yet, lets get on with this.**

The skies of London had their usual dark grey tint to them whenever the aura was gloomy with smoky clouds reaching high cathedrals; something that had began to become unusually frequent within the past couple of years. I was very damp out, with moss patterns beginning to grow up the sides of building and around the windows.

Virtually every single building at least within the town, had so much fog clouding about the windows and the bricks of the town homes, businesses, courthouses, and churches. Small droplets would gather in areas and slowly drip down the cold bricks. All these places had a strange damp smell amongst them, at least form the outside, of course. Some may have even begun to grow mold on the inside.

The workhouse was no acceptation. Thousands of abandoned, and abused boys and girls were scattered among the quarters. Most orphans. Divided and sorted by gender.

The girl's quarter was piled with young girls of many ages, ranging from newborns to girls of at least eighteen. Their hair disheveled and matted with sweat and mud from the obvious labor that took place during the day. All sprawled on a cold, hard stone ground. There were whimpers and screams coming from younger children and babies, while some of the older ones tried to quiet them down calmly. However, others weren't so patient and were fast with their hands to beat them in attempts to shush them, out of anger, annoyance, and sometimes plain cruelty.

The same cycle went on within the boys chamber. Hundreds and hundreds of young men and little boys, along with babies, slept in an unsanitary, dark chamber. It could get very noisy and some wouldn't take it. Unlike the girls chambers musty smell of only sweat, dirt, and mold, the boys was worse by far.

It smelled of damp wood, sweat, vomit, feces and urine, and even the metallic trace of blood. Fights broke out many times, especially among boys. Blood would be splattered across the ground many times, but nobody bothered to come and clean it, let alone many boys wound being unattended. Wounds and even small cuts and gashes would often time lead to poisonings developing right in, where the blood clot should have been. After all, it's very much to expect to be fine after exposing an open wound, to not only the polluted air, but also the ground and walls.

Of course with part of the fighting being taking one's hands and elbows, knees, and even faces and scraping it into the rough, stone bricks, which were already beginning to crumble in some parts. When children got these poisonings which lead to diseases, it would often lead to death. Corpses would lie in chambers for whole entire days at a time, sometimes even going two full days unnoticed.

Drips from some leakage in the ceiling, would add to the already decomposing body creating an even unhealthier atmosphere.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all obviously alike. The same muck with cloudy water.

Straight to work you went.

All assigned to different places.

Some to the mill, some to work with the cotton and do the sewing, and some working with many dangerous tools that can easily sever a careless child's hand.

Not that anything would be done about it. Not that you would receive any care, as the judge and many other powerful people in the legal system insisted it be put to supposedly better use.

Part of the problem being too many people afraid to speak their voice against this judge. There were rumors that the judge had spent much of the tax money on decorating an empty ballroom a couple years back. No one was sure, and people grew tired of trying to figure out what was becoming of their money. And the children of the workhouse grew tired of, not only wondering why a small sum of the money was not put towards them, but of life itself.

The judge seemed unfair, and life seemed unfair. What more? The children would just have to wait until they were of age to be released. Or wait until they were picked out by some loving family, for an apprenticeship, or by someone whom merely wished to get married to them.

Every time someone was chosen out of the workhouse, there would be groans and whining from children. Children hoping that someday, their time for luck would come around. Until then they would silently dream, daydream, and pray desperately to be chosen whenever someone would come by to take a look. _I'm right here_.

They would perk up with the slightest pang of hope forming inside of them that the person would be generous and take _them_ away. Only them. Nobody else, just look into their desperate, pleading eyes and have mercy on themselves, alone.

Their eyes, reading…screaming. Screaming out. Screaming so loud and bright with tears, it _can't_ be missed. It just can't. Even for one who holds almost no heart. Eyes shining violently. Even a blind man can feel your presence, they feel. Screaming. Screaming. _Pick me_.****

**A/N: I don't know if I'll add the next chapter about when Pirelli comes for Toby, it may be kind of pointless since everyone knows, that it ends up happening, not specifically how though. But anyways, there's a story from someone vaguely stupid in the Grammar/English department, with a limited vocabulary, and unconstructive imagination who's not a writer, much rather a visual artist. P**

**I'm not begging/expecting anyone to leave reviews (although I would be flattered if you did) as this was an extremely boring story, I'm sure, for most part. After all, I did just write this so I could get it out of my system that I've always let you guys do the work and I've enjoyed myself. I also kind of wrote this so when you look at my profile, I don't look like some lazy bitch. With there only being two stories and all…yeah. Well, I'd better getting working on writing all those reviews…That have accumulated over the months…\**


End file.
